


Broken Mirrors (Don't Shine)

by dasakuryo



Series: Recounting Old Memories [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There seems to be nothing the pack can do to help Kira, as she struggles with her powers. Deaton finds himself at a lost, and even though everyone has researched thoroughly, there's little they can do. However, Noshiko has an old acquaintance that may be part of the solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Mirrors (Don't Shine)

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before the last season premiered, so I didn't take into account the events that take place during it. It's also heavily influenced by my frustrations with the treatment of the kitsune myth in the show -their description in the story is based on online research, and some themes and features taken from different anime that depict kitsune. I apologise beforehand if I made any mistakes with the honorific titles' usage, and I would appreciate correction if so -I included them because I felt it'd fit the characters better, considering that both of them are canonically from Japan :) Thanks for dropping by, I hope you enjoy the story.

After losing all her tails, things had been shielded away from Noshiko, things that hadn't eluded her only months before. There were things she could no longer notice as acutely as she used to, her senses had been growing number as time went by.

This could explain why her daughter's struggle with her kitsune powers, ever growing, ever changing, had gone completely unnoticed. Sadly, her resources were scarce, given the circumstances. There was little, if anything, she was in position to do to really help Kira out—

However, she knew _someone_ who could help her.

Or rather, someone who _might_.

There were just rumors, of course, that he was around. Noshiko herself had been reluctant to believe them at first, mainly because she feared being the target of some sort of potential threat— since they hadn't parted under the best of circumstances, neither in Japan centuries ago nor more recently.

But when Kira's powers started getting out of control to the point that her daughter feared them, pretty much frightened about hurting her friends —or worse—, Noshiko had no choice to make.

So off she went, deep into the woods. The moon offered a dim light to guide her saunter, whenever it managed to break through the dense clouds scattered all over the night sky, like wandering swirls of thick smoke.

The distant, faint noises of creatures moving about placed her in a state of constant alert. It wasn't any forest after all, and choices were that being Beacon Hills she could stumble upon any creature, and not precisely the natural animal type. Stripped from her kitsune powers, she could never be overly cautious.

She halted by the river. The waves on the water surface shone like silver under the moonlight. Her breath came out of her mouth in a spirally silvery swirl of smoke, sometimes intermittent, her breathing ragged. Her eyes squinted and scanned the immediacy, her body tense. Expectant, anxious—

She heard the distinct sound of dry leaves and sticks breaking behind her, the brisk sound of hurried footsteps that went with it and a flutter of cloth. Rather than itching in her throat, her breath came out in an annoyed sigh. She turned around, already pulling an exasperated face to the newcomer that had just stepped into the clearing.

 She met a scornful, boasted smirk topped with a pair of cunning eyes. Noshiko could even _hear_ the sarcastic laugh, stamped on his very body language, from the way his head was slightly tilted to one side to the way he smiled.

It was odd to see him again, overwhelming and mesmerizing at the same time. He'd gotten rid of both his _haori_ and _hakama_ , and chosen more modern trendy clothes that clashed completely with the memory she had of him in his samurai attire.

As for the rest, he looked as he used to look back in Japan. He even hold that very same conceited smile, chin lifted up, and his right hand rested casually atop the katana handle —carefully tied up at his waist. He had stopped wearing his hair in a long lock drawn loosely against the back of his head; it was cut short in a messy fashion, ruffled. His dark brown eyes of his human form, however, haven't changed in the slightest.

Given all that had happened and the many enemies he'd amassed through the years, it'd have been more sensible to choose an avatar different to that of his days of glory. But then again, maintaining a low profile wasn't precisely his style. Noshiko had always remembered that he'd always been reluctant to go unnoticed—

Except when fooling people came into the equation. She knew fair too well how skillful he was at masking his identity under those circumstances.  

"Ohayō, Noshiko-chan," the honorific title was sour, tasted like a blunt mockery, "what happened to your tails?" the deep concern in his voice that went up an octave was almost believable, but Noshiko read the shadow of a smile in the corners of his eyes as he strolled around her, studying her casually.

She couldn't hold back a grunt.

"I haven't come for your amusement, Takeo," she spared the honorific, as far as she was concerned, he didn't deserve any.

That earned her an offended expression from her interlocutor, brow creased and eyebrows raised in fake shock. He stopped his leisure stroll around her; the smile was ready on his lips again. The chuckle came shortly afterwards.

"It's Takeo-sama to you, _neh_?" his tone had been soft and almost friendly, but there was something that stroke as nothing but menacing in his eyes and his set jaw, "from all the things I've had expected you to lose over the course of these centuries certainly _respect_ wasn't one of them."

Noshiko glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I came here for my daughter. Now it's not the time for one of your lectures, I am past beyond them." Her retort came out harsher than she'd intended to. She wanted to sound calm and collected, to avoid giving him more fuel to keep steering the conversation away from the topic she wanted to discuss.

She knew she'd failed the instant she saw his lips curl into a smirk, _again_.

"You are, aren't you?" he made a pause, looking at her with the very same wicked smile etched on his features, prompting the silence as yet another instance for questioning her stand. Noshiko knew he was laughing inside, she knew him that much to know that hadn't been merely an ironic question for reflection, "it's you who has come to me for help, not the other way round, is it? How about some manners to this old honorable fox?"

"You're hardly _honorable_."

He resumed his pace, nodded slightly as he tapped his fingers on the _ito_. He seemed to be doing it absent-mindedly, but Noshiko knew his ways, remembered some things all too vividly, and read it as it was— a sign that she was treading on his toes.

She watched cautiously how his fingers collided with the handle one, two, three, four and five times before stopping atop it, palm and fingers around it then. She tensed. She knew that if he drew out his sword, there was no way she could deflect it.

He turned instead.

"And yet that's such a tricky conception, so many shades of grey in between that black and white mindset of yours."

"I am not here to discuss morals with you, Takeo. Besides, you've been hardly fond of them, even back then."

The tapping on the handle started again, as he looked at the night sky for a brief moment before answering with a flat tone, "They don’t _suit_ me, which is another matter entirely. Where's the fun if not? If I recall, you were particularly adamant to view it, even _back_ _then_."

Noshiko didn't have to look at him to see the sneer on his face.

"I've never found anything fun about slaughtering innocent people."

"They were anything but innocent, a point you've always failed to notice," this time his voice didn't sound mocking as before, there was something more to it, it was colder, "you've even stopped with the tricks all together," the tone regained some of its derisive nature, "was it because of that kit of yours? Or because of that _corporal_?"

Noshiko almost snapped at that, but she managed to collect herself before jumping at him. Her nostrils flared with anger, and she clenched her jaw so tightly that she might as well be about to gnash her teeth together. She wanted to bark something at him, equally hurtful, but she wouldn't—

She was there for Kira.

 She took a deep breath, hoping that would keep her anger in check. That didn’t go unnoticed for the other kitsune, whose smile widened even more than before. He could read her as an open book, it'd been so many decades and still that hadn't changed. There was a part of herself that was still vulnerable, too naïve to outsmart him.

"I've stroke a chord there, haven't I?" he didn't sound concerned about it in the slightest, but rather pleased about the situation, "speaking of soft spots, may I know why didn't you tell that bakemono?" he tossed the last word with such despicableness, hatred that she only remembered radiating from him back during the civil wars, that she truly feared that he actually had an agenda of his own. 

"Tell Scott McCall _what_?" She asked; her voice as firm and stern as she could muster.

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean." Although his smile hadn't faded, Noshiko perceived how his features contorted ever so slightly, as the tapping on the handle increased its pace.

"I saw no reason to; the kid's got enough on his plate as it is."

"Interesting," He started walking again, this time a few steps along the river. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "I wonder what that bakemono may think of, if he happened to know that her beloved mother-in-law casually met with whom snatched the poor young Argent girl from dear life." He hummed at the end of that sentence.

Noshiko knew he was merely trying to send her up the wall at the silent threat.

"Giving yourself away it's really not your style, Takeo. It takes out the element of surprise, after all."

"So you did pay attention back in Kyoto, didn't you? Which brings me back to the point, why didn't you tell him and the rest of his pack of lousy wolves?"

She didn't know why he was being so insistent on that. Did he fear she was going to double cross him?

"Tell them what? I'd thought they've trapped you for good, though I've always had my doubts. I knew that if you had managed to escape you'd have been watching my every move. I went on a limb here. I knew that if you were, in fact, free you'd manage to find me."

"There is always a third option for this sort of predicament."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You actually knew, for sure, that I hadn't been trapped inside that Nemeton box. Come on, I taught you better than that, it was the oldest trick in the book. You actually knew, for sure, that a bunch of teenagers wouldn't be able to keep me locked down, even if they succeeded in trapping me —you knew that I'd eventually free myself from whatever weak magic they were using to keep me there. You also were perfectly aware that your daughter was starting to develop her powers. You knew that you wouldn't be able to help her, not after that fiasco with trying to stand up to me, you lost all your tails as a result. There is nothing you can give Kira now but a handful of pointless and useless advice, but not actual help, no restraint to her powers. So you, Noshiko, were not only hoping that I'd _not_ been trapped but also you hoped that I'd come to pull you out of the mess you've got yourself into. After all, that's why I _always_ did back then, didn't I?"

The light was dim and scarce in that clearing, but Noshiko could have sworn that there was a silvery colour breaking through the darkness of his irises. The sudden tighter grasp on the handle, she had also noticed. Still, she remained stoic; knowing, or perhaps hoping, that it was merely her mind playing tricks on her.

She shot him a nonchalant glare.

"I was hoping that you could help Kira with—"

"I couldn't give any less of a fuck about that damn kit, Noshiko," Takeo interrupted her with a harsh interjection and aggressive flourish of his free hand. His voice came out through gritted teeth once again, "I don't want anything that it's remotely, or closely, related with _you_. So, I still haven't been able to understand how you even come up with the twisted idea that I was going to help you in the first place? I owe you nothing."

And with that, he started to saunter away from her, back into the darkness and depth of the forest. Noshiko wanted to sprint after him, but she knew she could look weak if she wanted to get something from him, anything. She fought back, hitting right in the spot where she knew would trigger of a reaction from him —for better or worse.

"I thought you might do it— for her." Her voice cracked at the end, quivering between being affected and heartfelt.

His pace slackened, but he kept walking.

"It's Chiharu's grandniece."

At that, he _halted_.

Power deprived or not, Noshiko Yukimura still knew her ways to trick.

However, given the enraged expression Takeo had on his face before charging at full speed at her, might be a sign that she had miscalculated. The blade stopped inches away from her face.

This time she certainly wasn't imagining it. His fangs were visible, his eyes icy cold, the colour of steel, with a glare so murderous and menacing that for a moment the air itched in her throat. The moon wasn't tricking her anymore. His hair had definitely turned white, and if Noshiko needed any further proof that the demon blood inside him had broken through his human façade, all she had to do was look down briefly at the hand holding the katana blade against her neck. The claws were practically digging into the _ito_.

"If you have the nerve to speak _her_ _name_ again, family relationship or not I'll cut you open. Have I made myself clear enough?" It came out in an aggressive feral growl, so rabid, so full with hate that for the very first time Noshiko feared that she had been overestimating him all along.

She feared to even move a muscle, knowing that gulping could well draw blood. She could feel the anger _radiating_ from him, it was almost suffocating.

"I'll give it to you." She said, in the steadiest voice she could muster.

His jaw muscles locked even more than before, lips whitened when he frowned. The pressure on her neck hadn't faltered, there was a wicked, sick light shining inside his eyes, eyes that were starting to grow darker and darker. He lifted his upper lip in disgust, showing off his fangs.

"There's _nothing_ you have that I can be remotely interested in, so don't waste your breath."

That was when it struck her. He hadn't come there to give a helping hand; he'd gone there to gloat in her begging and desperation, to find delight in turning her plea down. He was there for revenge, to get even after that battle.

"I have her fan," she managed to breath out, "the fan she used when— I promise I'll give it to you, but please help Kira. I am sure she would have wanted to—"

"Don't. You don't know, you have no way of knowing, and we will _never_ know, all thanks to _you_ , "his face contorted again, and when he grunted Noshiko could have sworn his eyes had beginning to turn black, "if it hadn't been for righteous young naïve Yasushi, who believed a bunch of foreigners, let alone hunters, could be trusted to bring piece and get to a common ground, she'd still be _alive_." His voice broke to a feral sound at the end of that phrase, and again he spoke through gritted teeth after, "They'd _all_ be _alive._ And I wouldn't have to be mingling with such trivial affairs like teaching a kit."

"Why do you think I wanted to turn the Oni against you?"

"I'll owe you."

"You do realize that you'll be complied to do anything I ask you. And when I say anything, I really mean anything."

"I understand I—"

"Things that will make your own daughter _despise_ you. Are you really sure you want that potential risk hanging over your head all the time?"

 

Kira didn't even bother to greet her mother. She'd been on the verge of another breakdown at school, right after the lightbulb above her exploded and the power went out. She was overwhelmed by the situation she found herself into; the inability to control her powers was becoming distressing.

She overheard her mother telling her something from the living room. She squeezed her eyes shut before turning around and storming back to her mother. But right after taking a few hushed steps, she ran into someone in her frantic rush.

She looked up to apologise to, most likely, Scott, who surely had followed her inside after reading the chemo signals oozing from her. But although her gaze did meet a pair of concerned brown eyes, they were alien to her. They lacked that warm that was inherently Scott's.

"Surimasen, Kira-chan," the man helped her to regain her balance before she fell, he even bowed his head slightly, "Noshiko was telling me you were having trouble, may I be of assistance?"

His voice was so kind and awkwardly hesitant, Kira, still stunned and surprised, only managed to nod.

 

"I am never pulling that Japanese brandnewcomer shit ever again," Takeo grunted, arms folded over his chest as his gaze remained focused on the distant cherry blossoms that danced in the wind a few meters away.

Noshiko remained silent.

"And if I have to look at that bakemono ogling at the kit one more time, I am going to be sick. Get rid of him or I am out;" he grunted again, then bit the inside of his cheek, "I have enough with stopping myself from running him through with my sword for biting me—"

"That's how civil you're now?"

"This is as civil as you're going to get from me at _this_ point," he hissed, and his brow furrowed.

Noshiko would have found the situation amusing, if it weren't for Takeo's involvement with the recent events of chaos and the premature death of Allison Argent. She felt disgusted for making a deal with him, but she couldn't abandon her daughter, not when she herself was at fault for everything that had happened. It wasn't precisely righting her wrongs, quite the opposite— it felt that she was tainting with treachery the last remaining portion of that poor girl, her very memory.

But that wasn't her only sin. Having lived for over a handful of centuries, her amounts of offenses weren't precisely a few —regardless of how hard she'd always tried to stick to her morals.

She left the fan right beside him, on the grass. The blackness of its material contrasted against the bright green, and with the deep purple of the katana handle. The silver and golden, intricate rubrics of the fan decoration mirrored the sword's _tsuba_.

She didn't stay to await his reaction.

The older kitsune waited for her to be long gone, before taking hold of the fan, first tentatively with shaky fingers, then clutching it tightly in his hand. His grasp was too firm, but he didn't took notice of it until a tiny, crimson spidery pattern made its way down his hand to the ground.

He choked with his own sarcastic laugh. How ironic it was—

The very last time he'd hold that fan, the blood tainting it hadn't been his.


End file.
